


Ain't Supposed to Die a Natural Death

by Oaktown75



Series: Sunk Costs [1]
Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-07
Updated: 2011-11-07
Packaged: 2017-10-25 19:23:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/273874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oaktown75/pseuds/Oaktown75
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes your old life doesn't stay where it's meant to stay, and past becomes present, becomes future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ain't Supposed to Die a Natural Death

DECEMBER 2010

Barry Zito is dragged from his cozy slumber by a ball peen hammer rhythmically pounding his ribs, which turns out to be Timmy's elbow knocking repeatedly into him. Zito rolls over, curling up against Lincecum's back, slinging an arm around him. The hammering doesn't stop.

"What?"

"Phone," Timmy mumbles, head under the pillow.

"What?"

"Your fuckin phone is buzzing. It's been buzzing for about an hour."

"Why didn't you wake me?

"I just did. Answer it so I can go back to sleep."

"Where is it?"

"How the fuck do I know? Just answer it."

Timmy shoves his head under the pillow as he does whenever Zito wakes him too early, which is almost every morning since they started spending most nights together after their victory was complete. Zito feels around under the bed, finally getting his hand on his buzzing phone under the night table. "Lo? Its six o'clock in the morning, who is it?"

"Zeets, charming as ever," Chavy says quietly.

"Well you woke us," he says. "Too bad he only woke the wrong one of us," Timmy mumbles as he pokes at Zito's side again. Zito grabs his hand, softly kissing the knuckles, and slides it back under the pillow to Timmy's chin. He tightens his hold, licks the spot on Timmy's neck where t-shirt doesn't quite meet pillowcase.

"Tell him I said hey," Chavy says while Zito smiles watching Tim shiver. He loves to see Tim shiver. "Chavy says hey."

"Tell him unless the earth is imploding, he should be sleeping. Like I was. Like we were."

"Cranky," Zito says to Chavy. Letting go of Tim, who pulls the covers up over his head and burrows in under the pillow, Zito relaxes against his back and asks, "Uh ... what's up that you felt compelled to call me in the middle of the night, Chav?"

"It's the morning for some of us. Even if we want to be asleep, we're awake with the other real world folks. Richie just signed a one-year deal with the A's."

Zito's breath catches before he can stop it. "What?" Head under his pillow, Timmy's eyes open wide.

"I'm pretty sure you heard me."

"Tell me again."

"Richie. The A's just signed him to a one year deal with a team option for the second."

His heart pounding, Zito exhales, says nothing. There is nothing he can say. Feeling sweat breaking out on Zito's body, Timmy mumbles, "What's up Bar?"

"Nothing, go back to sleep."

Timmy drags his head out from under the pile of blankets and pillows, turning to Zito. "Barry?," his voice questioning.

"Go back to sleep." It is not a request, and Timmy lays his head on his pillow, eyes following as Barry slips out from between the sheets. "Just a sec, Chav," he says as he pads to the door and steps into the long hallway. "Tell me." Zito heads to the living room, crosses his legs, and slinks to the floor, sliding his legs into the lotus position - except for the phone in his left hand.

"He called me about an hour ago. Told me he'd signed the deal and was coming back, asked about where he should live."

"What'd you tell him?" Zito wonders, turning his right hand palm-up, finger and thumb creating a circle, hoping against hope that some perfect answer from the divine universe will drop in.

"That it's a different scene now. The guys are gone, only Ellie is around and he's home with Sarah and the kids."

"So what's he gonna do?"

"Said he thought maybe he'd look for a place in the city."

Zito closes his eyes, trying to calm himself as he feels his mind about to separate from his body. "Chavy, you fuck, quit makin' me beg. What'd he say?" His body's heat continues its rise, he's not feeling so successful on the calming himself part.

"He asked about you. He knew about Timmy, wanted to know what the deal was, wanted to know how in you are. You can imagine the questions Z. Said he'd heard stuff about it. Wanted to know if you're available. I told him you're not. That's right, isn't it?"

In spite of the "Yeah, course," the swallow and pause are enough to let Chavy know that his old friend still has a flame burning for his first true love. Zito fits the phone between his ear and shoulder, and turns his left palm up, again connecting thumb and forefinger in hopeful prayer. If finally getting himself close to a good lotus position were gonna result in some divine intervention, this would be a good time. Of course, a cell phone between shoulder and ear was probably not intended to be part of the lotus equation. His thoughts churn madly, but the rest of him tries desperately to counteract the oncoming bout of mania. He sits, trying to be still, trying to catch his breath.

"Nothing happened, right? To end it, I mean," Chavy asks. "It just kind of faded with distance, and then the league change, and then ..."

"No, nothing happened. Not really. It died a natural death. A damn slow one, but natural." He opens his eyes and surveys his living room filled with the charms of his life with Timmy. Unable to stop himself, his thoughts drift to the last months with Richie, where they found themselves less and less frequently on the same coast, no less in the same city. Things became too difficult, and for some reason, in spite of the intensity of their time together, just seemed to diminish to a text here and there, an occasional phone call, and then ... nothing. The last time they made love on this floor was at once completely hot and sweet, and not for a moment any more or less of either. They had fallen asleep on the rug, had woken in the morning, and both had resignedly understood that it was time for Richie to go. All of it was still there between them. It was just time to go. "I think this is what bitter-sweet means," Zito had whispered, "and I don't know which part is worse."

"Well, I have done my job, my friend," Chavy tells Z. "I gave the boys their breakfast and planted them in front of Sesame Street, I talked to Richie, I called you, and now I'm going back to sleep until the boys attack. I advise you to do the same."

"I don't think so."

"No, I guess not."

"Say hey to Alex, 'kay?"

"Barry. Think. Think before you do anything. Think."

"Thanks Chav. Later."

"Call me, huh? Let me know how things go."

"Maybe they go nowhere. You told him I'm with Tim, so maybe they go nowhere. Maybe he just lets it be what it is. Maybe he ..."

"Think Zeets, but not obsessively. Not psychotically. Don't do anything til you think about it like a normal person."

"Yeah, right, any day now. Bye Chav." He wonders when Chavy got so damn smart and developed himself a vocabulary.

"Buh-bye." Ah, the Chavy he knows.

*****

As Chavez clicks off, Zito lets his phone slide out from his shoulder and drop back to the floor. He settles himself fully into a lotus position, trying to slow his mind's blinding speed, trying not to think about Richie, thinking of nothing but Richie. Richie and his eyes, that impossible shade of blue against his dark lashes. The smirk that first caught his attention, that kept his attention until the only option remaining was to kiss it off his face, and then to kiss it back on again. Richie, his Richie, who saved him from his horrific misreading of his apparent-to-everyone-else completely misunderstood, though some might have said imagined, "relationship" with one Mark Mulder. Zito needed to understand that he was simply a nominal fuck buddy, and find a way to live with it. So Richie built the road for him, took his hand, and walked it by his side. Richie, who rescued him from despair after the big three was destroyed, who brought him back to life, who restored and renewed him. Zito had signed with the Giants, staying close, and then the call came.

"I'm going to Chicago."

"Why? What's up?"

"No, baby, I'm traded to Chicago. The Cubs. Billy traded me to the Cubs. I'm getting on a plane tonight."

"Richie?"

"Barry, I'm traded to Chicago."

"Come over, Richie. Are you okay? Come over."

"Barry ..." "Come over."

"Barry, did you hear me?" "Come over."

"Kay."

*****

Zito uses his t-shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead, gathers himself, and lifts himself from lotus to standing. He breathes in deeply, trying to find his center, picks up his phone and heads back to the bedroom. The eyes that meet his are anxious, concerned, lit from the outside instead of the inside, and Zito leans down to kiss his forehead. Tim looks back to the television. Zito follows his gaze, and sees Richie's in his A's uniform on SportsCenter, which Lincecum has muted.

"He re-signed with the A's." "Yeah."

"That's why Chavy called?" "Yeah."

"Did you talk to him?" "You heard him."

"Not Chavy, him," Timmy points to the television. "No."

"Are you gonna call him?" "No."

"Is he gonna call you?" "I doubt it."

"Why do you doubt it?"

"Chavy told him I'm with you, Tim. He asked, and Chavy said, 'He's with Timmy.' Okay?"

Unmoving, unblinking, Lincecum stares straight ahead. "I don't know, Bar, is it?"

"Of course it is. What we have is ... well ... what we have. We're us. This is what I want, you know that. It's you and me, right?"

"Mmm," Timmy says, glancing at Zito, who is staring out the window. His eyes return to the television, watching the same lines crawl across the screen over and again. Zito is transfixed by Lincecum's reflection in the mirror. Even in the murky likeness, he can still see the pain.

"Timmy ..." Zito says beseechingly, turning to him. Against expectation, Timmy looks up and their eyes lock, and suddenly Zito can't think of what else to say.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," says Timmy as he flops back into the pillows. He stares up at the ceiling, and then blinks to try to hold back the moisture beginning to form in his eyes. Oh no, he thinks, please don't let it happen.

Zito sits down at his side, his back to Lincecum. "He saved my life. I'll always be grateful for that." Lincecum reaches for Zito, his hand moving gently up and down Zito's sculpted back.

"I know Bar," he says quietly. "I'll always be grateful too. I know what he was to you, and I got it that you told me all about it, which was cool of you. He helped you screw your head back on so you could see I was here, and that was cool of him. But he didn't screw it on 100% straight, and you love The Drama, babe. You love the all the confusion and the ups and downs and all of the other shit that lets you put all of your buddhist karma bullshit to practice." Timmy feels his anger building and wishes he could stop himself from what he knows is gonna come out next. "And that man," Timmy says pointing to the television, "is Your Drama." He swallows hard, waits to see if Zito will look at him, but Zito sits stonily silent, and unmoving. Timmy leans his cheek against Zito's arm, and says quietly "I don't do that kind of drama, and I don't want that dude in our life. I can't be with you if he's anywhere near us. Kay?"

Zito tries to keep it together, he knows none of this is Timmy's fault, the kid's done nothing but offer the best of himself. Still he can't stop his rampaging thoughts; he has to get some distance to think this through. When Tim senses his reserve, he retreats to his pillows.

"I haven't even heard from him, Jesus, listen to you, drama, and confusion, and buddhism. It's fuckin' yoga. Nothing more, nothing less. And he's not even here. I haven't even heard from him, Timmy." Looking over his shoulder to meet Timmy's eyes, then glancing away, he breathes in and nods. He didn't want to see the hurt there, knowing that he brought it, and knowing that he's doing nothing to render it moot.

"Kay. I'll make sure he stays away."

Timmy stares at his back. His back! He can't even turn around to say the words. It leaves Tim thinking 'Sure, you'll make sure. And you'll get that message to him, what, psychically? No doubt he'll just be waiting to receive the 'stay away' vibe. Cos you won't be talking to him. For at least an hour.' "Thanks Bar. I think I'll take a shower and then head home."

"Timmy, don't make this into something."

Thinking of murder as that something, Timmy heads for the bathroom. "And don't you make it into nothing. It sure as hell doesn't feel like nothing," Timmy mutters as he closes the bathroom door and turns on the shower.

Lowering himself back onto the bed, Zito says "Shit." He stares at the television, and relaxes his body, deciding to give it all over to his mind. He hates it when Timmy is so damned intuitive, even though that's one of the things he likes best about him. It's only when the intuition is turned on him to ferret out the kind of truth he'd rather keep buried that it's one of the things he likes least about him.

The crawl continues running "Oakland Athletics re-sign Rich Harden for 2011 season..." and he is mesmerized by the words moving across the bottom of the screen. As it is prone to doing, his mind wanders and he wonders if his new mantra could be "James Richard Harden is merely a commodity on the Oakland Athletics exchange," and finds himself reciting the words over and over in his head as the words continue their crawl across his consciousness. Except it soon becomes "Rich Harden is merely a commodity on the Oakland Athletics," and then "Richie is a commodity on the Oakland Athletics," to the inevitable "Richie is on the Oakland Athletics." Richie - Oakland.

Oh God, Richie. Richie whose body fit his bone for bone, joint for joint in spite of their height difference, so that no matter where they landed they were perfection. Richie always said the three inch difference was one inch of hot-guy hair and two inches of Zito's swollen head, and a smile comes to his lips in remembrance. Suddenly he shivers at the recollection of their bodies entwined. Don't fuck this up Zito, he tells himself. You've got this amazing guy now, easy, hot, none of the angst of Richie's bipolar brand of crazy. Be grateful. Let it go." But he knows he won't be grateful for what he had, or for what he has. He knows he won't let it go. He can never let it go. Lincecum was right, Zito does love The Drama.

Richie's bipolar brand of crazy is just another thing about him that fits Zito's perfectly, too.

**Author's Note:**

> From Mario Van Peebles's show described as "part poetry slam, party musical, part ghetto vaudeville." Or life.


End file.
